Purgatory
by JessicaJ
Summary: He looked at them as though they were the ghosts, and not he. [Complete]
1. Part I

**Purgatory**

**Part I**

_**n. **_**A place or condition of suffering, expiation, or remorse**

_-Prelude-_

_Stepping down into the damp, mildew-ridden air of the passageway, she began to wonder if there really was something down here for them to find. If what the note alluded to was true, then… She suppressed a shiver. She didn't want to think about it._

_Who knew what horrifying, inhumane things had transpired here, hidden beneath metres of stone, locked away, too dark and too deep for anyone to hear the screaming…_

"_Tifa?" She shook herself at Cloud's sudden address. "You need to either go down, or let me go first."_

_Of course, she was still stood frozen on the top stair blocking the passageway, staring down past the torch beam and into the gloom. The sound of steady trickling water down the moss-covered stone seemed to be swallowed by the darkness itself. No noise came from beyond the dark, her ears supplying only a background static, accustomed to at least some sort of background ambience._

"_You- you go first."_

_The cloying, almost sweet odour of burgeoning moss and plant life no doubt borne from the invading water flow was thick on the air. It clung to the back of her nasal passage and coated the inside of her mouth. With the content of Hojo's note in mind though, the scent became unearthly, emulating festering decay, accompanied by grotesque images supplied by her disturbed thoughts._

_The door swung open after much battering of the rusty lock, revealing what she could only surmise was a tomb. Her heart went into spasm, her throat refusing to allow her to swallow down a bubble of rising fear. Her nose couldn't sense the decay anymore. She could only smell age; musty earth, rotting wood and stagnant water. There were bones here, human bones, and aged wooden crates; human sized, apparently hastily assembled and locked away inside. Only one stood in the centre, non-recent drag marks telling of its being relocated some time before._

_She could only watch as Cloud moved forward to open it._

"_Who disturbs my slumber?"_

_Her vision swims, knees trembling as she is confronted with proof of life, and not death. Yet she fails to validate either argument. As he speaks, she received the impression that he is communicating from another dimension, another time. His words are hollow, devoid totally of any inflection of emotion besides despair, hatred and loneliness. His ruby eyes, piercing the gloom, tell of suffering and loss beyond her comprehension. His pale skin tells of years out of the reach of the sun, his voice almost cracks and aches from dis-use. He looked at them as though they were the ghosts, and not he._

"_Please. Leave me to my sin."_

_He chooses to remain in his self-imposed prison, a hell constructed for him, to be punished. For he feels that is all he deserves._

_He wished to remain in Purgatory._

-0-

The distant dull clanking of buoys was barely audible over the battery of rain against the pavement. It was a wonder she could see at all, the fine spray rebounding from the cobbled streets rendering light into a distorted haze. She might have enjoyed the sights, if the situation weren't so spirit-dampening. Tifa's skin had risen in goosebumps, suffering at the onslaught of icy rain. Her companion didn't seem to mind so much, or at least he gave no indication of displeasure that she could see. The rain had barely let up since they had arrived in Junon.

Grumbling inanely under her breath, she stomped through puddle after puddle, her socks soaked through, wondering when it would be considered reasonable to call it a night. Cloud had insisted they split up for reconnaissance; find as much out as possible about what ShinRa were up to- after all, Junon was their main Military hub, and boy could those soldiers talk.

Vincent, her allocated intel-gathering partner-in-crime seemed to know the streets of the port town reasonably well; He'd spent time here on assignments with the Turks, she managed to extract from him after a few inquisitive comments, and it certainly saved them wandering aimlessly at her guidance.

It was about the time of her sixth sneezing episode that her companion broke the silence.

"We should find shelter. You will catch a cold."

Vincent's vocalisation of concern, no matter how stoic the delivery, brought a smug smile to her lips. Cloud and Barrett seemed all too eager to forget that they were all on the same side sometimes, and gave little consideration towards their quietest crew member. Though he gave them the same inattention in return, he was always ready with a heal spell, or a steadying hand, should the occasion arise.

"Yeah," she sniffed, pushing her sopping hair back out of her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "Screw Cloud and his 'let's split up' routine!" She huffed, neglecting to duck as she passed under a leaking drainpipe. She was as wet as fricking possible, anyway.

Cloud had teamed with Aeris, and he'd sent Barrett off with Cid. She didn't think the other pairs of would-be intel-gatherers would put much effort into _their_ searches. Barrett and Cid had been snickering about some bars they wanted to drop into, and Cloud, well… Aeris was enough of a distraction for _him_.

Frowning, she pressed her PHS to her ear, in awe that it still managed to function after residing in her damp pocket for so long. Her call connected sooner than she'd expected, considering. "Hey Tifa, we've found a room for the night. Apparently there are no rooms hardly anywhere across town. You'll have to find someplace to stay yourself. We can regroup tomorrow."

"Got it. See you tomorrow." Irritated, and feeling rather downtrodden, she snapped the device shut and shoved it back into its soggy resting place. "Looks like we're on our own Vincent."

"Hm." A flash of lightning sets his features into stark relief—ruby eyes seeming to capture the electric charge of the heavens and hold her in place with it. She marvelled that his hair could appear any darker than it did in daylight when soaked through with rain water. "I would suggest trying some less-than savoury establishments if that is the case. I must apologise in advance, for I fear than none would be suitable for a lady."

She smirked in spite of her sudden misery, jumping only slightly at the crack of thunder. "We'd better find somewhere fast. I don't fancy getting fried."

She swore she saw him smirk.

-0-

_She had been afraid of him. No. She was terrified. He followed behind them in silence, one with the shadows; for he was merely a shadow himself, leaving their embrace temporarily to join Avalanche in an earthly pursuit of revenge. The scent of age and decay surrounded him; she daren't stand too close, lest she revisit that basement in her nightmares._

_The first time it happened, they were lost within the maze of the mountain caves, beyond Nibelheim. The darkness had been absolute, save for their torch beam, and in that protrusion of light she had watched his body transform. They were under assault from cave-dwelling monsters, and yet she found herself turning towards the source of an inhuman scream; he was tearing at his clothes, cape tossed aside first, then he was fumbling desperately with buttons, chest heaving with laboured breath. He couldn't manage it in time, instead dropping to his knees as waves of excruciating pain washed over him, ruby eyes wide and for the first time, terrified; muscles tore, stretched and reformed, bones cracked, grew and healed again, skin stretched and shifted over a new monstrous form._

_Wings, claws, teeth and terrible golden irises, a purple, impenetrable hide…_

_Yet the thing she remembered most after it was all over, was how he had stared at his blood-stained palms, trembling still, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. _

-0-

**I had this as one long story, but decided to break it down into small bite size fragments. A small idea that grew around the word, Purgatory.**

**I hope you enjoy it.**


	2. Part II

**Purgatory **

**Part II**

-0-

_Transformation after transformation, each one seemingly more terrible than the last…_

_He picked himself up after each one, eyes lowered, defeated, shrinking inwards and away from their obvious scrutiny and fear of him. Hated himself, so he could not blame them…_

_Though one time proved one time too many, and it had all of a sudden gotten to him. He lay, curled up on his side, trembling from the aftershocks of his transformation. _

_She had found herself silently crossing to his side, ignoring Yuffie's insistence to leave him here, gripping at his trembling elbows and helping him to stand._

_He watched her with barely contained wonder beneath his shattered exterior, ruby eyes wide and beautiful in the low light, as she stooped to pick up his clothing. Placing his shirt and cape in his trembling arms, she gave his arm one last squeeze. "Two minutes, Vincent. Then we need to move forward."_

_He nodded once, jaw set. Yet there was a new side to him she had seen; a child hiding behind the windows of his eyes, fogged by hatred and blame. _

_There was humanity left, after all._

_Her touch had been the catalyst. He remembered how afraid she had been of him, never daring to meet his gaze, let alone speak with him. It only confirmed how out of touch he had become with life. Yet when he realised that he was more monster than man, that he would never have a chance at normality again, even if his revenge was excised… There were steadying hands, holding him upright, tenderly brushing away his tears._

_When she should have been afraid the most, when she should have turned and ran, never looking back… she had stayed, reached out for him._

_It gave him something, a fragile gift; a shaft of moonlight in the dark, a moth batting against an open window._

_She gave him hope._

-0-

Another hour of the night was spent traipsing from hotel to hotel, only to find that due to the recent increased military presence, to cater for the arrival of President Rufus, many establishments had no room, as Cloud had rather helpfully indicated.

She was starting to feel a little desperate as she stepped into the foyer of an inn further out of town, toward the old quarter, her teeth clattering and her sneezes occurring much more frequently. The hour was late, and the land lady gave Tifa and her companion a suspicious look.

"We need a room, please." She said through chattering teeth.

"I have one double room available. That's it, I'm afraid."

"We'll take it." She tried to stop her hand shivering, keeping it still long enough for the woman to deposit the room key into her expectant palm. A double room would do right now, even if she had to share with someone apparently as inhospitable as Vincent.

"You're dripping all over my carpets." She commented sourly, eyeing Vincent's sodden cape with distaste.

Tifa was about to open her mouth to say something scathing, when Vincent cut her off. "If you have any spare clothing available we would be grateful," he shot a half-amused side glance at his suffering companion. She could barely manage to stick out her tongue in response, for fear her chattering teeth would cut into it.

The woman began to grumble as she shooed them toward the stairs, promising she'd try to find some sort of alternative while their own garments hung to dry. The room into which she admitted them was much more accommodating that Tifa had first feared, considering the establishment's outward appearance from the pavement.

On seeing them into their room, the land lady announced she would return momentarily with the promised garments. They were left with towels and an uncomfortable silence.

Tifa appraised the room briefly. A double bed pushed against the near wall, and fire crackling merrily in the hearth, along with a wardrobe and a heavy-looking chest were all that furnished this room. Heavy curtains blocked out the view of outside; no doubt she would see the relentless downpour they had recently escaped from. Upon the edge of the neatly made bed was a pile of navy towels. Reaching for them, she tossed one to her companion before patting at her damp face.

"I guess we should get out of these clothes, then."

What ensued was a rather awkward exchange of avoiding gazes as they tried to peel away sodden clothing. Vincent turned his back politely, though she found her eyes were curious, pausing in her task of trying to shuck out of her shirt to watch as he peeled away his.

Muscles shifted beneath gleaming white skin, kissed by an amber glow from the fire that the room so kindly provided. Wet hair seemed to obey him, remaining out of his face as he pushed it back, revealing for the first time his entire jaw and forehead. She could get quite used to seeing him like that; minus cape, and that damned bandana. She had seen it before of course; but never in this relaxed a setting.

The tell-tale lines of scarring ran from the apex of his shoulders, tapering down to a point at the base of his spine. They spoke of tearing of the flesh, where his wings would erupt during his terrifying transformations. They looked to be old scars, though in fact his last 'turning' had occurred only a day or so before, the flesh knitting rapidly as courtesy of his supernatural healing rate. Far from disgusted or afraid anymore, Tifa was in awe of his inner-strength, something no doubt he was unaware he possessed.

Figuring her perversion wouldn't go unnoticed much longer, she tugged herself free off her white shirt and set about peeling away her soaked socks. Her hair was a tangle of black threads as she bent forward to retrieve a towel. May as well get everything off, and hope it would be dry by morning. Beneath the towel that protected all that was left of her modesty, she freed herself from her sports bra and stepped out of her underwear. Securing the towel in place, she hurried toward the sphere of warmth emanating from the fire, briefly adjusting the positioning of the fire guard to hang her garments to dry.

She grunted as she settled herself into a cross legged position before the fire, rubbing vigorously at her arms to try to bring some immediate reprieve from the goosebumps.

Also wrapped in his towel, Vincent dragged over the heavy trunk she had noted before with minimal effort, presenting it for her to lean back against. She did so with a sigh, stretching out her legs towards the fire and wriggling her toes. The sensation beginning to slowly creep back, she set her head back against the chest and turned her attention to her companion.

"I didn't think the night would end up quite like this," She admitted, running her hands over her bare arms. He gave a dry chuckle, arms folded a little consciously over his naked chest. He passed her pack to her, before seating himself beside her atop the trunk, elbows rested upon his knees. They made an odd pair, wrapped in royal blue towels seated before a fire in a dingy inn. Barely even able to make conversation on the best of days, and now they were sharing a room, half naked. His eyebrow quirked at her spasmodic laughter, though he did not question her.

Rummaging in her pack, she found that any spare items of clothing were too damp to wear. Tossing them aside with a sigh, she finally procured her comb, setting about trying to tease out the knots. Instantly the teeth snagged in the tangles, resulting in much cursing and hissing as she battle to free it. She thought she heard him laugh beside her. A few more minutes of fruitless battling ensued before he spoke.

"Here, let me help you." He intoned softly at her shoulder, reaching with pale fingers to take the comb from her impatient hands. More surprised than anything, she conceded, letting her arms fall limp at her sides. His cool hands grasped her shoulders briefly, manoeuvring her about for better access. Her back was half against his thigh, her bare shoulders chilled by the sudden shift in position.

He began to tease the comb free, patiently removing each tangle from the comb's teeth. That done, he set about taking her hair by the fistful and easing out each knot. Her scalp began to tingle at the sensation of unfamiliar hands, and she actually sighed aloud at the touch of his firm fingertips at nape of her neck. Patiently, he combed her hair into order, running his fingers through one last time before he was satisfied his task was done.

Turning, she smiled sleepily up at him. "Thanks," Her voice was near-breathless.

"Any time." She wondered if he really meant that, chuckling aloud to herself at the thought of asking him to repeat his task sometime in camp. She wondered what Cid might have to say about that. He regarded her with amused curiosity as he lowered himself to ground level beside her, stretching his legs out before him.

"I wonder what the others are doing…" She gazed thoughtfully into the dancing flames, drawing up her legs and turning toward him a little, chin resting in her hand.

"Cid? Two guesses."

"Smoking or drinking?"

"Probably both." She admired the dancing firelight in his eyes as he laughed.

"Well, I'm not one to be outdone, you know." She wagged a finger, before reaching into a side pocket of her pack. He eyed her curiously, his mouth quirking at the corner as she presented her stash to him. "It's not much but… I was saving it for some sort of occasion. And I guess… this must be it."

She handed the bottle to him, ignoring the thrill that the temporal brush of fingers sent down her spine. "This is no cheap drink," He remarked, turning the brown glass bottle in his hands. The label was worn and mostly peeling away from the damp, though the liquid gleamed in the firelight.

"You know it?" She inclined her head, inviting him to taste it first.

"It's no common thing, Rocket rum," he removed the cork carefully, breaking the still intact wax seal, taking an experimental sniff. Apparently satisfied, he took a mouthful of the amber liquid, swallowing after a momentary pause and a deep inhale through his nose. "Ah… there it is."

She takes the bottle from his hand, bringing it to her lips to take a sip. She realises the intimacy of sharing a bottle, and the strangeness of her choice of person. Secretly and selfishly, she is glad that she got to have this moment with him to herself. She doubted that no amount of prodding would have produced this much conversation from him were they in camp.

The liquor burned on the way down, but she has had far too much practice at drinking much harder liquors to flinch, as another might have done.

"Well worth the wait, I think. You know, I found this hidden away, unopened, when I first took over the Seventh Heaven." She twirled the bottle thoughtfully in her hands, before taking another sip and passing it back to Vincent. "It was as though the previous owner had squirrelled it away, too. You know; saving that one special bottle for that one special moment that just never came."

He takes another shot from the bottle, gazing at it thoughtfully. "Why did you choose now… of all the time you've had… all that which lies ahead…" The liquid sloshes around within its glass prison with each revolution of the bottle, turned between Vincent's steady palms. She wondered if he wanted to add, _and of all people, why me?_

"If not now, then when?" She was gazing into the fire, her fingers lost in the mass of her dark hair. She didn't notice him watching her intently, how he took in everything; the glow of her skin, the gentle curve of her muscular arms, and the way she curled her toes under her feet tightly, compacting herself further. "When we face a much darker day? When we fear for our lives with each breath we take? When we realise that there is no turning back?"

She laughed without humour, striking amber eyes smouldering in the light from the dancing flames. "If I chose to turn back today… there would be no consequences. I would only be letting myself down. There is no immediate threat to my life at this moment, and I feel… somewhat content." She takes a mouthful of rum and swallows it without a flinch. "Today is a good day. It tastes sweet."

"I think I understand, for my part..." He agrees, taking the bottle she offered once more. He wondered just how much Rocket rum it would take to loosen his tongue; probably not as much as it used to take, before everything changed, before he met a woman named Lucrecia. Those days… he didn't care where he woke in the morning, or whom he lay down beside at night. He chuckled. Those days were long gone. "It feels like an age since I last felt like this."

"'Like this'?" She rests her cheek upon her knees, watching with doe-wide eyes. Damn. Damn it all.

"Like… my problems are the farthest from my mind than they have ever been. Like I have purpose." What he wanted to say was that he felt normal again, part of the real world once more. Human. And he wanted to remember what it was like fully; to be a living, breathing man with feelings and emotions just like everyone else.

"You always talk about your purpose… It's like you believe you were put on this earth and punished for a reason."

"Can you think of any other explanation for my predicament, other than as a punishment for my sins?"

She sighed heavily, shoulders tensing at the turn of conversation. He almost regretted saying anything at all. "Vincent… by that reasoning you're saying that something I did before the age of 10 caused my mother to commit suicide? Something that I thought, or said, or did, at the age of sixteen resulted in the murder of my father and the burning of my hometown, the destruction of everything I ever knew?"

"I-"

"No! No, _I_ did nothing wrong Vincent. And neither did you. It is the actions of others which affect us, that influence our choices and the paths we choose!"

"Tifa…" He lowered his head slightly, jaw clenched, his brain fumbling for words. "I did not mean to—"

Strong fingers gripped a little painfully at his chin, forcing him to look at her, so beautiful and filled with passion for life…

… Then before he could even acknowledge the tension that had settled between them tonight, she was kissing him, burning lips pressed firmly against his mouth. She allowed her hands to slip up his neck, upsetting the tiny hairs at the nape, and come to rest in his hair, pressing firmly on his scalp as she kissed him harder. All thoughts of resistance were knocked out of his mind at her insistent touch.

Tifa was beautiful; the last view before his eyes fluttered closed were of firelight-kissed thighs and a mass of dark hair, shot through with flames. Hands that had forgotten were forced to remember, moving limbs into place astride him, shifting aside heavy damp towelling and exploring warm, moist skin. Her breath came in tiny gasps at his still cold hands. Her breasts were firm in his palm, and each squeeze and pinch brought soft murmurs from flushed lips, lingering at his earlobe. His skin erupted in goosebumps in the wake of her mouth and wandering fingertips, skull meeting the wooden surface of the chest with a thump as it came to rest there. Her breath was hot on his skin, her hair a curtain around them.

Words that could not be taken back and rum that could not be undrunk lay between them now. It was too late to turn back, too late for him to forget how long it had been since he had felt a woman's touch. The only thought that dawned on him was that it took five shots of rum each to get here.

Though it wasn't all familiar. He wondered if it had always been that darkness spread in his mind at the sound of a moan against his ear, uttered from desperate, heated lips. He struggled to recall, as towels were pushed aside to reveal untouched flesh, if his limbs had always burned this way at the contact of naked skin. He struggled to recollect the searing burn that spread like wildfire across his body as their flesh momentarily became one. Muscles shifted, and he became aware of an ache in his bones.

Then that familiar sharp pain in his gums signalled the start of something so familiar, and so terrifying…

A quiet moan of pain, and it was all he could do to cast her away from him with unshackled force, dumping her unceremoniously on the carpet before standing rather quickly, making a grab for his cape to cover his nakedness; though not before she saw the blood, carving ugly crimson lines down his back. She noted that traces of it glistened on the wooden chest where he had been leaning. It stained her fingertips.

Giving her modesty only a brief thought as she re-covered herself, she hurried to her feet, trying not to notice how much she trembled on them.

"Vincent, are you-" Taking a tentative step forwards, she was halted by his desperate stare, eyes begging her to stay far away from him. She swallowed down a surge of panic. "Please… tell me what's wrong, Vincent. I'm not hurt, or angry."

He was stood so close to the window, his breath misted the glass. He had torn open the curtains and was fumbling with shaking hands with the catch, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "This is… this is purgatory."

"Purgatory?" She repeated, her voice cracking.

"This was my punishment…" There it was again. That self-hatred and willingness to accept all that had been dealt to him, all because he felt he hadn't done enough to save one person; A person who had at once meant everything to him. She couldn't exactly decry his reasoning. No other suffered like he. Why else would he suffer, if not because he deserved it?

"You were transforming?" Her eyes widened at the thought that had Vincent not acted as he had, then she might have been staring Chaos right in the face, victim to his every whim.

"I'm sorry, Tifa… I didn't… I never thought…"

"Of course…. Shhh, it's alright…" She managed to stand near enough to take his trembling hands between her own. "I believe you. I trust you."

"I could have hurt you… I could have ki-"

"But you didn't." She cut him off right there. "Let's just forget about it." She hardly believed she was saying it, yet she had to try. For his sake. "We need to rest up and be fresh for tomorrow. Ok?" He nodded tersely, releasing his dead-grip from the window latch. He had been preparing to flee at a moment's notice. Yet it seemed that Tifa's capacity for forgiveness and acceptance exceeded every expectation he had.

Just one night, then things would go back to how they were before.

It became a mantra.

-0-

_He wanted so badly to ask her why she had chosen to help him that day. Had she seen there was no longer any reason to be afraid? Surely not. His own reflection was fearful enough, let alone what lurked beneath his skin, ready to shift and twist his body into a form which could dwarf any nightmares worst machinations. Yet there had to be something._

_Did she sense his fear mirroring, if not outreaching her own? Was she no longer afraid of him?_

_Perhaps he would never know._

-0-


	3. Part III

**Purgatory **

**Part III**

He eluded sleep, avoiding it like a frightened deer in the forest, nightmares plaguing his tracks like rabid, starved wolves.

She had insisted that they share the bed, to stay warm she argued, though he suspected that it was more of a display of trust on her part. He was grateful, though still terrified regardless, lying still and rigid on his back beside her. For her part, she was snoring softly, though her spine was hunched, her muscles tensed even as she slept.

It had never occurred to him before now that his transformations were of any immediate danger to his companions. He had always had control, damn it! So why now? Why in a random spur of the moment encounter with a beautiful woman did Chaos rear its ugly head?

Was it the rum? Had it allowed some unseen walls to fall, letting the demon raise unbidden to the surface?

At her gentle murmur, he turned his head toward her. She wasn't sleeping too well apparently, her brow furrowed as she now faced him, her knees tucked in close to her chest. The land lady had arrived at some point later that night to hand them some oversized cotton nightshirts and other various spare garments, and Tifa had chosen a large man's shirt to wear to bed. The hem nearly reached her knees, though she adjusted it self-consciously as they sat in silence before the dying fire, finishing the last of the Rocket rum.

Lying so close, he could smell her shampoo clinging faintly to her still-damp hair, and the scent of her skin.

A spasm of fear twisted his insides. What if she told Cloud? What if someone were to guess what had happened? He would surely be driven away, at the very least, if not hunted down and killed like the beast that he was.

He covered his face with his palms, unable to prevent the sudden asphyxia that hindered his lungs in their motions, the creeping sensation of cold spreading through his gut. He was a monster, unable to even indulge in humanity's basest urge, making love to another being. His limbic system was overridden by the supernatural stirrings of the demons within him. He shuddered to think what Chaos would have done had he not pushed him back within himself…

The urge to run overwhelmed him. He would be long gone from Junon by the time they realised he had gone, and off the continent before they could get the story from Tifa. Then…

He slipped out of bed, pulling on clothes that were a mixture of dry and still sodden, silently gathering what few belongings he had. He paused at spotting the near-empty bottle of rum, sitting innocently on the hearth. He wondered if the night would have been different had he refused her polite offer of a drink from her precious stash. He pointedly ignored other things as well; the comb, the blood stained towel, Tifa's undergarments still drying, draped over the fireguard.

Finally, he picked up his cloak, wrinkling his nose at the scent of musty fabric. It was time to bid a silent farewell.

He should leave a note at least, he reprimanded himself, his fingers just closing over the door handle. Sighing at his own display of conscience, despite everything, he set his cloak aside for just a moment, reaching for the complementary notepaper and pen at the bed stand. Glancing periodically at Tifa's sleeping form, he scribbled down his hasty goodbye, apology and request for forgiveness.

He almost snickered at the irony that even if it were granted, he would never forgive himself.

He folded the note and stood to approach the door once more. The pre-dawn light was growing now—soon the harbour would come to life. He needed to be gone before then. Belongings gathered, he looked back once more.

_RING! RING! RING!_

Cruelly, Tifa's PHS started to ring, catching him in an awkward tableau—fully dressed and staring at a now-awake Tifa almost sheepishly.

"You were running, weren't you?" She asked needlessly, voice still thick with sleep. He nodded once, ducking his chin in disgrace.

"Tifa, you're PHS…."

"I don't give a flying fuck about my PHS. I know full well which dickhead it is calling me before dawn." He smirked, in spite of the situation.

"I don't know what to say. I couldn't face you, knowing I almost—"

"You agreed to stay. No more running Vincent," She shuffled closer to the edge of the bed on her knees, her body encased in a white bed sheet, staring at him earnestly. Her PHS cut off for the moment, plunging the room into the pre-dawn stillness once more. "There's nothing I can say to make it better for you, I know. Just trust me when I say I am not angry with you. I shouldn't have kissed you. It was wrong of me." Her self-deprecation made his all the more poignant. _She_ couldn't feel guilty!

"It's alright… I… If it's any consolation, I felt… human, for a moment. The most human I have felt in a long time. So for that… I thank you."

She was blushing, grinning beautifully from beneath her mussed up mass of hair. They joined hands, understanding passing between them for a moment's eternity.

_RING! RING! RING!_

"Cloud I am not a woman to be messing with today—what the fuck do you want!?" She slammed the phone to her ear, stamping to her feet and almost tripping over the hem of the bed sheet that entwined itself around her body. "We will be there in an hour. I am not rushing for you today." She snapped the device shut and muttered a tirade of senseless expletives before she returned her attention to him.

"Tifa, I have to go. Chaos is… restless, after last night." He lowers his eyes to the floor once more. "I will meet up with Cloud later."

"Wait—before you go—last night you mentioned something about purgatory. What was that about?"

"Hojo has subjected me to the most horrific punishment; beyond the monsters and Lucrecia's needless death… he has taken away any chance I have of love."

"Love…"

"I am destined to suffer, alone and unable to… be intimate with another woman." He never raises his head, staring down at the threadbare carpet.

"Well Vincent, if I may be so bold-" She approached him calmly, taking his hand in the free hand not clutching the sheet to her body. "You don't need physical intimacy to love someone." Something told him she knew that better than anyone. "And there are many ways to give and receive pleasure."

He raised his head as well as one arched eyebrow. "What are you saying?"

Her laughter was musical. "Nothing. I was just trying to comfort you." With that, she turned and made her way towards the bathroom. "Screw Cloud, I'm taking a long hot shower."

-0-

Some days later found them walking through a forested area. Tifa and Vincent had somehow managed to retain a semblance of normality, despite the chain of events which had unfurled that night in Junon. Yet it seemed that one member of their group wasn't to be fooled.

Aeris had waited for an opportune moment, when they had gone off into the woods to find water together and well out of the ear shot of the others, to bring up the subject. "So what's going on with you and Vincent?"

She glanced up far too quickly, unable to dissemble her expression of shock in time. "I… H-how did you…?"

The Ancient laughed, ash curls bouncing as she shook her head. "Tifa—don't worry! I just know." Calmly, she crouched by the stream that Tifa hadn't spotted, despite the water lapping over the tops of her boots. "The planet told me."

"The planet told you."

"Sounds silly doesn't it?" She smiled knowingly, impervious to Tifa's doubt and wariness. It were as if they were discussing a menial subject such as gardening, the way she placidly set about washing her hands in the cool stream, not Tifa's relations with a man who shared his body with demons.

"Nothing happened." She mumbled after a pause, stooping and rinsing her hands in the stream's cool babble beside Aeris. "It sort of just happened, but then... Chaos… he…"

"Chaos is a powerful being—in fact, he was an Ancient once, turned into a monster as punishment for being in love with a mortal woman."

The Ancient's ethereal green eyes seemed to stare into Tifa, as though she could examine the very fabric that made her. "That's—Vincent's story."

Aeries nodded solemnly. "Chaos is being punished, too."

"Purgatory…" Tifa muttered, stooping to drink from the stream, suddenly extremely thirsty.

"What's that?"

"He called it… Purgatory."

Aeris smiled sadly, reaching out to take Tifa's hand. Her readiness for contact unnerved Tifa at times, not because she was adverse to it—on the contrary, at times she relied upon the woman's gentle encouraging touch to cheer her up—but because she seemed to _feel_ through her. Those gentle, pale fingers understood things that no words could ever reveal. "You suffer also. You look for love, and yet it seems to hide from you; in both Cloud, and now in Vincent. He wants to reach out and touch you, but he fears to hurt you." _So she knew. _

"Cloud loves you." She breathed aloud, an admission she had never voiced before now.

Aeris shook her head. "It doesn't matter." For once, the girl looked lost for words, lowering her beautiful eyes to her folded hands. "I have loved once. For me, that was enough. Cloud is… he is not himself. He is merely a shadow of… another man. He does not know it yet, but he must find out for himself. You know this, though, don't you?"

Tifa swallowed before nodding glumly. "I… I wasn't strong enough to contradict him. Zack… he… he was the one who…"

"Zack?" A glimmer of recognition in those innocent eyes, and Tifa understands why Cloud would walk to the ends of the earth for her. She was so achingly beautiful. "It can't be… Zack was in Soldier."

"Yes. He had this crazy hairstyle… I think—I think that's why Cloud's…"

Their gazes locked, and in the silence they reached an understanding. They were no longer rivals for the same man- that was for sure. They were friends, brought close by truth and circumstance. They both knew what it meant to be trapped in Purgatory; So much suffering, reliving your past mistakes over and over, mourning your losses, shortcomings, and failures…

"We should head back to camp." Tifa murmured softly, getting to her feet and dusting herself down. They walked back together, mostly in silence and arm in arm, lost in their own thoughts.

"Everything will turn out alright in the end. I know it. And whatever happens, I will be here for you. Always." The girl's lips were soft at the corner of Tifa's mouth, before she departed, reassembling her usual cheer before she faced the group. Well, it seemed Tifa wasn't the only one who was pretending to be the strong one.

-0-

**Final part to come!**

_**Your heart knows you'll never win, till you're free from him.**_**Husky- History's Door**


	4. Part IV

**This is the final part of this little experiment. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Purgatory IV**

_Four years later…_

It had been weeks since Deepground had launched attack on the surface world. Edge was scrabbling to get back together after the battle, though she imagined it would be months, if not years before normalcy returned. It had also been weeks since…

She set her jaw as she polished the bar top aggressively, even though it gleamed enough to show her furious reflection.

Reeve and the WRO were out looking for him. She'd wanted to go too, but he had insisted it would be best if she remained in Edge for now. Who knew what they might find, in place of the intact and alive Vincent that she hoped for. _We have a lot of troops Tifa. You have a business to run. Leave it to us. We will find him._ She snorted with derision, tossing the damp cloth over her shoulder in the vague direction of the sink. They would find a corpse, most likely. That's what Reeve wanted to say, but daren't.

She was on the brink of giving up hope, and it was her anger that stopped her from breaking down completely. Cloud hadn't known what to say. He had been there in his own way, silent and steady, yet silent and steady wasn't what she needed.

She needed answers. She wanted to know if he was truly gone. Then, and only then, could she mourn the man she had never really known.

They had all stood and watched; mouths open in disbelief as Vincent took the form of Chaos, silhouetted against eerie lavender skies, and ended Deepground's war. Yet when the afterglow of the explosion had faded from their retinas, his shadow could not been seen against the skyline. Her heart had ached for him—he, like Aeris, had sacrificed himself for humanity, so that it could live on. There were times when she wondered if Humanity really was worth the sacrifice, if it would ever deserve preserving at such a high cost.

Selfishly, she would take Aeris and Vincent back, if only to have them by her side when she needed them most.

Sighing to herself, she ascended the stairs, inclined to take a hot shower. Then she would probably waste some more time, waiting.

Waiting.

-0-

The call came at 4am, Edge time. Jerking awake at the shrill peal of her PHS, she eyed the caller display cautiously. Reeve. Her hands shook as she opened the device and pressed it to her ear.

"We've found him."

She couldn't return to sleep after that, instead heading downstairs and pouring herself a beer. She drank it in the dark and silence.

-0-

First, she slapped him. The sound echoed in the open room, punctuated by the gasps of onlookers. They couldn't know how she had felt all this time, waiting, not knowing… Could he have contacted her sooner, to save her from the sleepless nights, the worrying and despair, from the torture of not knowing what could have been?

Reeve had brought him straight to the seventh heaven, where Tifa and rest of Avalanche waited. They were abuzz with excitement, especially the children, and nobody could quite understand why Tifa paced so restlessly. She needed to see him to believe it was true, and as he stood before her, exactly as she remembered him, she could finally accept the truth.

He was alive.

Much to her surprise, he only outstretched one hand in response to her somewhat violent greeting; an invitation, and a sign that she was forgiven in one.

She threw herself against him, sobbing into that wretched crimson cape as hesitant arms came to enclose her in a guarded embrace.

-0-

Sometime into the night, during what had become an impromptu 'welcome-back-Vincent' party, she had found a moment to follow him out of the room. He was retrieving something for Marlene, as per her instruction, from her little pink backpack in the cloakroom.

"I'm sorry," Her words tumbled from pliant lips, too jubilant to care what she might say. His response was a careful smile, the first instance that she started to wonder if something was wrong. If something was different.

"No, _I'm_ sorry. I should have called. But I needed to… take care of some things first."

She cocked her head to one side, narrowing her eyes slightly. Part of her was indignant at his choice to remain cryptic, yet the other, overwhelming part was simply happy that he was back. "I'm just… so glad you're alright."

She squeezed his hand tightly, ducking her gaze from his scrutiny. There was something in his expression she didn't quite understand, and it brought blood rushing to her cheeks. She was mindful of herself, right down to how audible her breathing sounded, even with the background clamour of the party in the room next door.

"We should um, head back." Her mind supplied helpfully, conscious of the jubilant voices and sounds from through the wall. In this small pocket of space though, she got him to herself. Selfishly, she didn't want the time to end.

"Wait," She turned at his exclamation. "I… I don't know how to say this, but… It's been over four years since…Since we met. So much has changed… I never really got the chance to thank you for being there. I don't think I would have gotten through it all, if it weren't for you." He ducked his head, his cheeks heating.

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, unsure of what to say, well aware that she was turning a colour to rival that of his cape. She wanted to hide away, to digest all this information in her own time, and savour the warm sensation in the pit of her stomach. "And that night in Junon… for a moment, I felt… like there was hope. Yet when it all came crashing down, I… You were there, still."

She doesn't know where to begin, to find a good starting point to tell him about how agonising the past four years have been, living with the memories, and the pain of isolation. Never wanting to say how she felt, in case it somehow damaged the uneasy yet steady state they had settled into.

Does he still think of that night, as she does? Does he wish it could be different?

"I wanted to wait until I got you alone, to tell you first…" His hands are shaking almost uncontrollably now, and he clenches his fists to combat it.

"Tell me what?" She blurted out, heart battering relentlessly against her ribs. What could be worrying him so?

"It's Chaos… he's… well, gone."

She blinks, once, then twice, eyebrows coming together in a frown as she tried to process the information. "…gone?"

He nods, swallowing audibly. "I just… I thought you would want to know, before the others. Ah… I'd better give Marlene her crayons. She will be… wondering where I've got to."

He turns and exits the cloakroom, the open door letting in a swell of sound and babble of voices, leaving her stood frozen to the spot.

_Free. Free from Chaos._ So many imaginary butterflies, her chest felt fit to burst.

He made his announcement before them all next, palms placed calmly upon the table top before him. The woman named Rosso had taken the protomateria from his body, where Lucrecia had placed it three decades ago. Her head was swimming still, unable to retain any detail, aside from the fact that it was gone. _Gone_. Vincent was free, no longer chained by his perception of inhumanity.

She stood at the back of the room, her heart thudding arhythmically in her chest, clenching and unclenching her hands.

Why had he chosen to tell her first? What did it matter to him?

_He wants to know if you still feel the same._ It hit her like a lightning bolt, her breathing hitching as she battled with the notion that spiralled uncontrollably around her head. "Are you alright?" Cloud is at her side, taking her by surprise.

"I… I don't know." Her features appear to be at war with one another; does she want to smile, or cry?

"What is it?" The blonde frowns, turning to examine her more closely. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. Everything is… its back to how it should be." She seems to calm herself with her own words, exhaling deeply through her nose.

"And how is that?"

At this, the inner battle seems to have been concluded; a slow, gradual smile ascends to her lips, lighting up her features. "Because Vincent is back. He's _really_ back."

-0-

The night eventually wound down to a standstill. The hour is somewhere between midnight and dawn, the darkness out the window absolute. Not a soul disturbed the peace on the streets outside. All was soft, and quiet.

She breathed deeply, staring out of the window. The children had been put to bed in the attic room with Yuffie, Cloud and Barrett had one of the twin rooms, Reeve had left hours ago for his own apartment in Edge. The lights in the bar had long been extinguished, save for one candle-lit jam jar upon a deserted table. Cards and betting chips littered the surface, beer bottles and still-smoking cigar stubs casting twisting sinusoidal shadows on the walls.

All in all, it had been an enjoyable evening. She had taken a few moments to collect herself, calming her racing heart with steady breaths, before re-joining the party. After making his announcement, Vincent had sat in the corner with Marlene helping her draw pictures of everyone in the room to give out hastily before bedtime. Tifa found herself smiling again; the young girl had taken a liking to the lone gunman, in spite of Barrett's wariness.

She stooped to expire the final candle, preparing to head upstairs to bed at last. Yet before she could scent the burning wick, a shadow moving in her peripheral vision sent her whirling around, heart racing.

"Oh! Vincent- you scared me!" He apologised immediately, though she waved it away.

He looked so daunting in his full regalia, despite the intimacy of the gathering tonight; He had been among friends, or the nearest thing to it- he should feel more at ease. His eyes widened in mild-surprise as she approached him somewhat brazenly. Perhaps the beer made her feel braver.

"You know, you should take off that cape. You've nothing to hide anymore." His stance was somewhat guarded at her approach, loosely clasped fingers reaching for the buckles at his throat and chest. He stood silent though, allowing her this boon, inhaling slowly as she lifted the heavy red fabric from his shoulders. Next, fingers trembling now, she reached into his hair, teasing the bandana away. Black hair tumbled free of its binding, slipping between her fingertips. His unsteady breath warmed her skin. Then, she reached for his metal gauntlet, slipping it from his hand and setting it aside.

The nerves had never been right since the experiments, he had told her once. Random twitching and bouts of trembling troubled him if he didn't wear the device, affecting his shooting aim. Yet she saw no need for it at this moment, curious to know why the left hand shook so visibly now. He looked like the room would swallow him, staring meekly at the ground, almost naked without his shield of a red cape and a glinting golden gauntlet.

"There." She stated needlessly, taking half a step back to admire her handiwork. Her mind travelled back to that moment in the mansion, when his mere presence had terrified her so. To look into his eyes was to stare into nothing. He suffered daily from his inner turmoil, tormenting himself mentally for events long past. Now, when she looked at him, she saw a vulnerable man, suddenly given a new lease of life that he didn't quite know how to utilise. A beautiful, vulnerable man.

She rewarded him with a gentle smile, moving about the room and shifting empty beer bottles to save her the task tomorrow. He watched her with barely veiled fascination as she finally stopped to remove her jewellery and set about loosening her braid, seating herself with a huff in the recently vacated booth.

It had begun to rain outside; the gentle drumming on the windowpanes encased them in a cocoon of white noise. She watched him curiously as he crossed to her porch, throwing the door open to the night. The cool air burst into the room, reaching her bare feet first, then enveloping her body in its caress. Drawn to the cool, for she hadn't realised how stuffy the room had been, she sidled up beside him, curious as to why he had come to her this late, alone. They sat upon the top step side by side, huddled there in the light of a single candle.

"Do you… do you feel any different?" _Now that the monsters you shared your flesh with are gone. _

"I feel…" _Fragile, alive, human…_ "I can't really describe it, but… I feel as if I can start to move forward again."

"Your punishment is over?" She wraps her arms around her thighs, her chin coming to rest between her kneecaps.

"I… I suppose it is." He stares at his folded hands, still not used to seeing them without his metal appendage. The tremors would surely give him away. "You told me once; 'it is the actions of others which affect us, that influence our choices and the paths we choose'. That night, I thought… I thought I would have to run. But you convinced me to stay. You—you told me… you don't need physical intimacy to love someone and—"

He stalled, battling with a sudden breathlessness and bout of tachycardia. Swallowing, he continued. "I've decided something- it took me a while to reach this decision but… well, I have nothing to lose, so…" His hand found his forehead, rubbing at some unseen ache. "I decided that I wanted to be honest for once, no matter what the consequences are."

"Honest?" She tilts her head to one side, considering him carefully. He notes how beautiful her eyes are, and her skin, so pale in the dark. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying—" Deep breath. "That what you told me back in Junon—it's… I came to love you. I don't know when I first realised it but—I do. I've loved you from afar all this time and yet after so long, I thought… I thought you and Cloud-" His pause spoke volumes, more than words ever could. "I didn't want to come here to Edge with my hopes up. I wanted to be ready for that moment when you told me it could never be."

His expression is serene, and she can hardly believe that the same man who once hated himself so palpably was now so at peace.

She stares openly at him, half turned in the narrow space they co-inhabited in the doorframe, seated there upon the step. He cannot help but feel awkwardly exposed, his cape now draped across the back of a chair in the depths of the room behind them. Yet he is long past hiding now.

"I… I don't know what to say." Her eyes never leave his face, her hands gripping her knees rather tightly. "You intended to tell me how you felt, even though… even if Cloud and I were together?"

He ignores her use of 'if' for now, pushing it to the recesses of his thoughts. He daren't allow himself to hope yet. "I didn't want you believing I was tormenting myself anymore. I'm… done with that now. I wanted you to know that I got through my nightmares by thinking of you."

A solitary tear glides down one cheek, leaving a silver trail in its wake. "Oh… Oh Vincent."

She throws her arms around his neck, her face thrust into his shirt. She is holding on almost painfully tight; yet as her scent envelops him, his muscles relaxing against his better judgement, he cannot bring himself to move her. In an attempt to busy his idle left hand, he soothed her back with firm upward strokes, fingertips finding the recesses of her ribs and the small of her back, the sharp jut of her shoulder blade. She feels thin.

Minutes pass, and before long she is curled into him, bare legs draped across his thighs, her arms locked around his chest. The rain continues to fall outside beyond the flickering amber sphere of light, slowly dying, struggling to stay alight in the breeze. Her skin is covered in goosebumps now; he can feel them beneath the thin fabric of her shirt.

They cannot remain here forever, though he wishes it were so. Silently, he slips an arm beneath her knees, hauling himself upright. A quick glance downward and he notes that her eyes are screwed shut, her lips pulled into a firm line. The burden troubles him a little; perhaps more than it would have some time ago.

His hands were never clean enough to hold her then.

He finds enough strength to stoop though, and extinguish the languishing candle flame, plunging the room into darkness.

-0-

Fin.


End file.
